


Guardians of the Galaxy Prompt Fills

by Sintero



Series: Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 17,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintero/pseuds/Sintero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a repository of prompt fills for various pairings within the Marvel and Supernatural fandoms, as requested on Tumblr and AO3.</p><p>Chapter titles will have the pairing, rating, and any specific trigger warnings that may apply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill     Rated: E

**Author's Note:**

> Go here to request your own prompt fill: [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6326944)
> 
> Or send a message over on Tumblr: [WrithingBeneathYou](http://writhingbeneathyou.tumblr.com/)

This fill is for [Bluethenstaub](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fusers%2FBluethenstaub%2Fpseuds%2FBluethenstaub&t=OGNhMDYwMzJhYzc3NmZmMDhlNzhkOTdkYTM3MWM0MDMzM2IwYmVlOCxSN3JqS2trTw%3D%3D) on AO3 who requested: “You should do the 44 wiiiiith staraccuser.”

 

Pushing against Ronan’s sweat-slick chest, Peter finally wrenches himself away from the Accuser’s insistent lips and gasps for air. It’s only reluctantly that he lets Peter go, tongue retreating with an obscene pop.

“Tell me a secret, you infernal Terran, and I will end your suffering. Do not, and the universe will wither and die before the culmination of your torment is at hand,” Ronan growls before snapping his hips in one brutal thrust. Moaning, Peter rides the motion gracelessly where he sits, straddling the Accuser’s lap and clinging to his muscular neck.

“Fuuuuck. Okay, man. I wear Gamora’s underwear when she’s not around,” Peter whispers theatrically, grinding down on the thick erection buried within him. His huffing laughter is strangled abruptly as Ronan grasps his hips hard enough to leave lurid, purple bruises. The room spins and suddenly Peter’s back hits the floor with a metallic clamor. 

Despite the press of metal at his back and the massive Kree now pinning Peter’s knees against his own chest, Quill is still able to breathlessly state, “Drax once tried to tattoo the entire contents of a thesaurus on his ass cheeks.” He laughs as best he can, but there is so little air in his lungs that it comes out as nothing more than a pitiful wheeze.

The growl that Ronan produces in return is absolutely terrifying. His hips piston with abandon, the thick flare of his glans aimed purposefully for maximum effect. Peter moans and thrashes as best he can to stave off his inevitable release. But Ronan knows his Terran’s body too well and relentlessly pursues the arching flashes of pleasure that he knows are exploding like starbursts behind Peter’s closed eyes.

“You will tell me something of merit, or you will never know release,” the Accuser rumbles, voice almost inhuman with the escalation of his arousal.

Quill’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

 “I think I love you,” he finally whispers, clinging to Ronan’s corded forearms like anchors.

They come simultaneously with a sigh.


	2. Yondu and Peter Quill    Rated:T

This is a fill for [ClassicalTorture](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fusers%2FClassicalTorture%2Fpseuds%2FClassicalTorture&t=OWU5MWJjNmJjMGZkZDcyMjVhZjc4MTE4YzIzMDE5ZWJhMzc3OGYxZixuMVk4aExJNQ%3D%3D) on AO3 who requested: “YonduxPeter, 10, yaka arrow, any rating”

 

The surrounding crew members laugh uproariously as the kid turns red faced in his attempts to launch the seemingly innocuous little twig. You can’t help but grin at the sight of this little shit, huffing and blowing out spittle like wetting the balustrades is going to make your arrow fly any better.

Winded, Peter glares up at you with all the fury of a scruffy nine year old in a too big ravager coat.

“Fine!” he yells, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. “Your arrow is stupid anyways!” the boy states, voice cracking, before he runs out of the room in a flurry of gangly limbs.

Later that evening, you strip down to your essential leathers and crawl through the vents in search of your Boy. Two solar hours and a litany of curses later, you find him curled up into a t-junction in the ducting.

“Go away, asshole,” he mutters from the safety of his bent knees. Chuckling at your little upstart’s rancor, you shuffle closer and squeeze a battered deck of cards from your back pocket. With a few more colorful curses you manage to wiggle your arm back in front of you and toss the deck at his feet. You have no damned clue what it is other than some inane Terran game the boy likes. The box says ‘Uno,’ but who knows what the fuck all that means.

“Teach me how to play?” you ask. You don’t broker with sentiment, but the small, hesitant grin that you get in return makes your heart melt.


	3. Peter Quill/Yondu    Rated: M

This is a prompt fill for [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g), who requested:

22.“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Yondu/Peter

 

 

Yondu cuffs the side of Peter’s head and points a calloused finger in his face. It’s almost comical how Peter crosses his eyes to follow it, as if he’d rather analyze the dirt beneath those blue finger tips than meet his captain’s angry gaze.

“Don’t be smart with me, Boy. I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” Yondu growls, trying to be stern but unable to fully contain the grin that threatens to break him. “I’ll have you know, son, don’t fuck kids.”

Peter finally tears his eyes away from the thick blue finger that he may or may not have been envisioning splitting him open. Oh yeah, he’s got it bad.

“I didn’t do nothin, Yondu. And I’m not a goddamn kid! I’m gonna be of age in a solar month!” he protests, wringing his hands.

The Ravager captain looks him up and down, cataloging the way Peter is starting to fill out his jacket and breeches in the best of ways.

“Fine, come find me in a solar month, maybe we can work somethin out,” he says haltingly, then spins on his heel and stalks down the corridor. “Until then, I want you to plug the fucking peephole you drilled into my hull, get your hand out of your leathers, and scrub the damn mess hall,” he tosses back.


	4. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill    Rated: T

This is for @staubengel who requested: “StarAccuser - 25 - “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” With 100% done Ronan”

 

“This is absolutely inexcusable, Peter Quill,” Ronan growls under his breath. Peter glances up into the shadowed recesses of the Accuser’s linen hood, where two glowing purple eyes pierce the darkness.

“The Nova Corps specifically invited me to be the guest of honor at their one year holy-shit-our-planet-didn’t-get-blown-up anniversary ceremony. What was I supposed to do, say no?” he quips, crossing his arms and ignoring the looming mass of muscle and hate sitting beside him. 

“Precisely!” Ronan hisses, petulantly lighting a schedule brochure aflame with his ceremonial candle.

“God, you are such a child. Would you just stop,” Peter mutters under his breath, snatching the flaming parchment from Ronan’s fingers and stomping out the flame beneath his boot.

Fury flares so brightly in the Kree’s eyes that his face is partially illuminated and threatens to destroy his carefully crafted disguise. “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he snarls, voice heavy with the promise of pain.


	5. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill   Rated: T

This is a prompt fill for [Bluethenstaub](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fusers%2FBluethenstaub%2Fpseuds%2FBluethenstaub&t=ZWJlY2Q1YjhlYTdjNmYzNzU5NWJiOTVmMGVkM2IzN2U4NjVjZmExMCxPVzZuWnc0eg%3D%3D) over on AO3, who requested: “StarAccuser. Ronan finds out that Peter gives all his spare money to orphanages all across the universe."

 

Ronan never stops to question why Peter snatches his unit pad and disappears during each and every planetary docking, regardless of the system. He would be concerned, but the Terran has proven himself to be exceedingly resourceful time and time again. If Peter wants to gamble away his personal finances, far be it for the Accuser to stop him.

But, as he lies in their shared bed with Peter’s arm heavy across his waist, suspicions lurk in the dark recesses of his mind. He questions why, if Quill is gambling as he claims, the Terran returns inundated with the scent of sweat and flowers and not the more typical smoke and liquor.

The next morning, Peter and his unit pad are gone before the planet’s second sun rises. Ronan dons his armor as if in preparation of war and straps the heavy universal weapon across his back with a resigned scowl. He is resolute that there will be no secrets between him and his Terran.

Stepping stealthily along the stone pathway, Ronan crouches down and readies his universal weapon. Peter’s voice rises in a steady scream that sets off a firestorm of adrenaline in Ronan’s veins and immediately launches him into a desperate sprint. But then, Peter’s scream disbands into a loud series of guffaws that sweep through the courtyard, accompanied by the telltale peals of laughter of children.

Rounding the crumbling stone wall, Ronan freezes. Peter is on his back, gaily wrestling with an armful of young, ill-kempt children. With swift, perfunctory strides, Ronan crosses the courtyard and falls to his knees in front of his Terran, breathing like the bellows of a smithy and sending the orphans scattering in fear.

He grasps Peter’s face between sweat-slick palms and kisses him with all the fervor of a newly birthed sun.


	6. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill  Rated: M

This is a prompt fill for Dhyana on AO3, who requested: "XD ... No. 18 please, with StarAccuser. I don't care about the rest but prettypleeease Ronan should say it! XD"

 

Ronan twitches a finger, effectively disbanding the Kree detachment set to guard his person. With sharp, perfunctory strides, they clear the bridge. You watch them go, marveling at how their steps remain in unison. Even the sound of their shoes is terrifying.

But, your thoughts are abruptly drowned out by a hull breach siren so loud that you swear it shears through your brain. You watch as Ronan approaches you with a fierce scowl.

“Very well, Quill. Your shipmates have boarded the _Dark Aster_ ,” he states with far less vitriol than you would expect from a Kree Accuser whose craft just weathered a Hadron blast to its hull. With that, he unabashedly begins to doff his heavy pauldrons and armored cowl. You eye each and every inch of blue skin that is revealed as he strips, gaze traveling down the deep trench bifurcating his pectorals and tracing the length of his abdominals.

Sure, you could have come up with something more subtle to break the news of your romantic dealings to your friends. But, you think while ogling the swell of Ronan’s exposed buttocks, getting caught in the act lends so much more credence to your role in this than a simple confession.

“You’re still in, right?” you ask hesitantly whilst removing your own leathers and making your way over to Ronan’s throne.

He languidly reclines on the stone shelf and pulls you onto his lap, straddling his muscular thighs.

“This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan that you’ve ever had,” Ronan states quietly into your ear, baritone voice rolling straight down into your groin. “Of course I’m in.”


	7. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill     Rated: T

This is a prompt fill for [@staubengel](https://tmblr.co/mPdrCvYxjKOvhgFKQfw13aQ) who requested: “Staraccuser - 9 - “Don’t you ever do that again!”

 

 

When he closes his eyes, Peter can still see the afterimage of the ether rifle shot exploding like a sun burst. He can still hear the roar of his name, feel the pain blooming in his fractured ribs from the heavy impact of a too-large body. He can still smell the stomach churning scent of roasting meat and metal.

Stumbling from his chair in the medical bay, he falls to his knees and wretches unproductively. The rough metal grate cuts into his palms, but he’s too numb to care and too blinded by tears to see the blood. For long moments he stays that way, collecting himself sufficiently to finally resume his seat at Ronan’s bedside. The Accuser could never look small, but he appears diminished hooked up to the life support cables as he is.

Peter gently threads his fingers through Ronan’s and presses a kiss to their joint knuckles.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he says brokenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T_T What have I done?


	8. Yondu/Peter Quill  Rated: M

This is a prompt fill for [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g) who requested: “34.“You heard me. Take. It. Off.” Yondu/ Peter   Yondu says to Peter.”

 

**Peter**

The smell of liquor and the hot press of bodies is achingly familiar.

Even when you were a knobby-kneed, snot-nosed teen, you always looked forward those brief periods between missions when the Ravagers would gather in the mess hall for a night of inebriated camaraderie.

Once, you were even able to flitch Kraglin’s coveted bottle of Skaavakian Gin. You didn’t remember shit the next day and woke up in a puddle of your own piss, but you had never before felt more like a man.

And here you are now, pressed between Kraglin and some giant purple dude you’ve never seen before, caught in a battle to keep your clothes in some bullshit Centaurian version of strip-poker.

Incredibly drunk strip-poker.

“Alright, boy, that’s the last of your pieces,” Yondu drawls with a salacious grin, dexterously repositioning the little holo-cubes on his side of the glowing table. He eyes your boxers pointedly and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Off with ‘em.”

“What the hell, man? This game is so rigged,” you exclaim, glancing around the table at where everyone with the exception of Rocket remains fully clothed. Even then, Rocket’s only sans jumper because he’s black-out drunk. “Even Drax is still dressed and he only has pants!”

Kraglin guffaws obnoxiously next to you, leaning precariously on Drax’s broad shoulder. “You heard the cap’n,” he slurs, anchoring himself on the massive bicep. “Bottoms off!”

 “No,” you say petulantly, scowling at the empty line of shot glasses in front of you as if they’ve personally affronted you. You’re still pointedly glaring at the dregs of liquor when the raucous chattering at the table goes quiet and you shiver at the sensation of alcohol-laden breath on your neck. Yondu is there, looming over you with one hand braced against the table. His other hand glides down your bare side, callouses rough, and alters its course to flit over the tremulous planes of your abdominals. His fingertips slip beneath the elastic hem of your boxers and subtly brush the base of your half-hard cock, motion hidden from view by the table top.

“You heard me, boy. Take. It. Off,” he growls directly into your ear.   


	9. Drax/Peter Quill    Rated: T

This is a prompt fill for [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g) who requested: “27.“Marry me?” Peter/Drax”

 

The small branding iron glares up at him accusingly from where it sits, studiously ignored but not forgotten, on Peter’s command module. He hangs his head and vigorously runs his fingers through his hair in an absent motion to settle his trembling hands. Anxiety burrows into the pit of his stomach and wraps its steely grasp around his throat until he can no longer breathe. Sweat beads across his brow and dampens his temples as it meanders down his face in wet, warm trails.

It’s been so long since his last panic attack that the heavy weight on his chest takes him by surprise.

The tremors hit full force then, causing him to instinctively curl in on himself and tip forward out of his seat. Drax enters the small bridge and, without pause, takes note of the situation. He moves far more quickly than a man that size should be capable of, catching Peter before his knees hit the ground. With confident, gentle ministrations, Drax settles them to the floor, Peter nestled within his arms.

“Breathe with me, Quill. Listen to my voice and follow my lead,” he says softly. Peter focuses on the heavy rise and fall of the chest at his back and attempts to emulate the rhythm, occasionally choking on tacky spittle. As he is able to refocus on the world around him, Peter realizes that he is clutching the brand in one fist so hard that his skin threatens to break. He can’t remember when he retrieved it from atop the command module.

Without a word, he presses it into Drax’s palm.

Drax idly rotates the brand as he studies it. The metal work is crude, but the small bits of repurposed scrap metal twine about each other to form an elegant image of Peter’s beloved cassette tape. “Peter, what is the meaning of this?” he asks quietly, with none of the bluster to which Peter is accustomed.

Finally drawing in a long, shuddering breath, Peter manages to choke out “Marry me?”

It’s not the stuff of fairy tales, as far as proposals go, but it’s enough.

Drax’s broad smile illuminates the room.


	10. Drax/Peter Quill   Rated: T

This is a prompt fill for @bbb35 who requested: “Drax/Peter I wish to ask your father permission to marry you.”

 

 

“So let me get this straight. You got your drunken nookie nookie on with my boy last night and now want my blessing to what? Propose to the promiscuous jackass?” Yondu asks incredulously, setting down his holo pad to fully focus on the Destroyer standing across the table.

“Yes. Intercourse with Quill was…exemplary. He would make a consummate mate,” Drax responds matter-of-factly, completely unabashed.

Yondu cocks his head and simply stares at Drax for a long moment, considering, then bursts into gales of laughter.

“You’ve got my blessing, my brood-father’s blessing, and any other goddamn blessing you need, ya sorry blue bastard!” he absolutely howls in delight.

“You dare to question the purity of my lineage…” Drax begins, only to be cut off abruptly as Yondu curls over in his chair and slams his fist on the table, gasping for breath. The ring of metal compliments the din of his mirth.

It takes a while to reclaim his composure, but Yondu manages admirably, absently wiping the moisture from the corners of his eyes with a dirty glove.

“Alright, Son,” he begins, but the stupid grin on Drax’s face in response to the pet name makes him pause. “Like I said, ya got my blessing, but on one condition. It’s Centaurian tradition that the proposal be witnessed by the whole tribe in order to be considered legitimate.” Wicked humor laces his voice.

Nodding his head sagely, Drax crosses his thick arms across his chest and appears to ponder the import of Yondu’s words. “How long will it take to assemble your Ravagers?”

The Captain slowly rises from his chair, cheeks aching from the force of his smile.

“Son, you give me a solar hour and you’ll have all the tribe Peter can handle.”


	11. Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill  Rated: T

This is for the glorious StarDestroyer prompt angel [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g) who requested: “33.“If you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.” Drax/Peter Quill”

 

 

Drax exhales heavily and pulls Peter flush up against his side. Clavarian liquor takes every species differently, but he had no idea just how sensitive Terrans were to the fermented insect grindings.

Furiously writhing and pressing against Drax’s bulging lattisimus dorsi, Peter tries to lunge free, only to be caught up again in the man’s giant arms and held even more tightly. “Get off of me you overgrown, cock-blocking blueberry,” he howls, scrabbling desperately at the air.

Drax patiently ignores the outburst and the confusing use of metaphor, merely continuing to pick his way back to the _Milano_ from the seedy gambling casino. Gamora and Rocket stagger behind, laughing uproariously as their inebriated ship-mate tosses out pick-up line after corny pick-up line at Groot. At a loss, Groot walks silently at the back of their little procession, looking as uncomfortable as any other plant matter whom had to suffer the brunt of Peter’s pointed “wood” references for the past fifteen minutes.

The Terran collapses bonelessly over Drax’s arm and studies Groot from his new upside-down vantage point with a leer. “Okay, seriously, if you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed,” Peter states huskily, though the line comes out slurred beyond recognition. Groot wearily shakes his head and steps over Rocket as he collapses to the ground in mirth.

“Oh, Quill,” Drax mutters, defeated.  


	12. Merman!Peter Quill/Admiral!Ronan the Accuser   Rated: M

This is a gift fill for [@staubengel](https://tmblr.co/mPdrCvYxjKOvhgFKQfw13aQ) as an act of reparation for my world class idiocy. “Merman!Peter, Admiral!Ronan merman AU.”

 

 

“You came back,” Peter manages to growl in a bastardized amalgamation of Kree and dolphin, the words broken up oddly by a series of whistles and clicks.

With a dangerous leer, he submerges beneath the ocean foam. A long, tense moment passes, silent but for the call of gulls and the gentle lapping of waves against the transport craft’s hull.

“Quill?” Ronan calls out as he treads water, refusing to acknowledge the mild trepidation taking root in his chest. As the sea foam dissolves into no more than thin trails of bubbles, he sighs and slowly paddles his way back to the awaiting craft.

Peter is a capricious creature on the best of days.

Ronan braces himself against the bobbing side of his rigid-hulled inflatable boat and effortfully pulls his torso from the ocean, inhibited by the sodden military garb. Even sodden, it’s far lighter than his armor, but the multiple layers of cloth are wickedly cumbersome and far less functional.

Before the Kree diplomat is able to swing a leg on deck and haul himself fully onboard, Peter surges forth to capture him within a maelstrom of muscular arms and exuberance. Salt water blinds Ronan as he collapses against the hull with a pained hiss. It’s not that he chooses to allow Peter to roughly pin him against the stiff nylon, but that the merman’s strength is nearly impossible to overcome in his natural element. On land Peter has the grace of an undulating seal. But here, in the open ocean, the sinuous flex of muscle beneath his warm, rubbery skin is more than a match even for a Kree Accuser.

With a subtle twitch of his flukes, Peter settles behind him, holding Ronan firmly around the waist and running an inordinately strong tongue up the rippling muscle of his neck. The Kree tastes of metal and stardust.

“Missed you,” Peter trills after several failed attempts at forming the words. Though, the hand that he immediately shoves down Ronan’s pants translates his intent clearly enough to make spoken language unnecessary. Ronan shakes his head as he grips the anchored guide rope of his private craft.

Perhaps it is merely a genetic trait of all aquatic mammals on Earth, but Peter’s sex drive is strikingly voracious.


	13. Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill     Rated: T

Here is a prompt fill for [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g) who requested “10. Drax/Peter “teach me how to play.”

 

Peter

 

 

Once more, you abort your ceaseless pacing in the tiny prison cell and settle down onto the metal grate next to Drax, shoulder to shoulder, and stare up at the dolefully swaying lamp. He’s uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Though, considering your own exhaustion, you are thankful for the warm, silent presence of him. The lull in your conversation stretches like a yawning chasm until his rumbling baritone finally breaks the companionable quiet. “Will you teach me how to play?” he asks without further explanation while idly scanning the poorly lit ductwork of the ceiling.

Puzzled, you turn your head to glance at his profile and can’t help but chuckle at the empty bottle that he dangles from two thick fingers.

“Seriously, Drax? We’re about to be executed and you want to play _spin the bottle_? I know I’m hot and all, but you really need to work on your timing, buddy,” you respond, words punctuated by soft, humorless laughter.

Drax merely shrugs his massive shoulders then stretches out fully on the dirty floor, bottle falling from his listless grasp and rolling away with a clatter. You’re not even sure how he got the stupid thing smuggled into death row in the first place.  

He continues to stare straight up from where he lies in supine, ankles crossed and fingers threaded across the barrel vault of his chest. “It is my fondest desire that we had met in more fortuitous circumstances, Quill. Despite the less than prodigious circumstances of our initial meeting, I have enjoyed your company. I have it in my mind to keep you.”

With a sigh, you crawl over to him and lean down to brush a chaste kiss, your first, across his chapped lips. Those massive hands, so capable of filling his ledger with red, slip from his chest to cradle you gently and hold you close. You can see the exact moment when he realizes that something is off, pressing you away in order to pull out the tiny key that you circumspectly slipped into his mouth.

“If you really want to keep me, here’s your chance, Big Guy.”


	14. Yondu/Peter Quill  Rated:M

This is a prompt fill for [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g) who requested: “Peter/Yondu- ‘get your hands off of my Terran’”

…I promise, the next one will be normal. With smut. All of the smut.

 

 

The shadowy figure is a behemoth of exposed muscle and bone, terrifying despite his seemingly congenial attitude and affected air of casual grace. His body is like an anatomy lab gone horribly, horribly wrong. 

Without warning, the eldritch horror explodes from his deceptive repose in a red and white blur, too fast for you to follow, and slams your torso back into the alley wall. The jagged edges of rough-hewn stone press painfully into your back and make you arch against the firm hand that pins your neck. Gasping in both pain and fear, you clasp his bone-covered wrist with both hands and writhe beneath the unnatural warmth of his body. Osseous struts push against your abdominals like hot irons, your thin shirt doing little to combat the scorching heat of his body.

You instinctively struggle when he nestles his thigh staunchly between your legs.

“It’s been quite some time since I last had the pleasure of a Terran’s company,” he drawls with a leering grin that shows far too many shark-like teeth for your comfort. You stare wide-eyed at the network of bony plates on his face as they shift restlessly, exposing slick muscle fiber then locking together in new and different configurations.

 “No wonder, dude; your face is…really disturbing,” you retort, ever the master of interspecies relations. “Plus, it’s pretty rude not to buy a guy dinner first. Ya know…before erotically asphyxiating him in a dark alley.”

With a patient, enigmatic smile, he resolutely ignores your panicked rambling. Instead, he traces the curve of your jawline with his bone white claws and leans in slowly for a taste. However, before his lips make contact, a piercing whistle roots you both to the spot.

His eyes shift in their sunken, bony hollows to focus instead on the yaka arrow quivering at his brow.

“I’ll give you two seconds to get yer goddamn hands off of my Terran or the kid’s liberal heart won’t be the only thing bleedin’ 'round here,” Yondu roars, voice resonating through the walls with its force. Gone is the arrogant posturing, this is Yondu prepared to kill swiftly and without quarter.

After a long, tense moment, your attacker's zygomatic arches lift and resettle, setting off a cascade of movement from the frontal plates back to the suture of his occiput. He presses a phalange against the soft red meat of his lips and almost comically cants his head to meet your gaze with his nightmare-red eyes.

“Well, it would appear that I’m not the only monster with a taste for Terran,” he says with a sly smirk.


	15. Abyssal Merman!Ronan/Peter Quill  Rated: T

So, this is a drabble that came about while I was playing around with an AU idea in which Rocket and Peter travel to Earth in order to dredge the Tesseract from the Mariana Trench. But, in their search, they happen to unearth more than they bargained for.

It’s essentially, an Intrepid Explorer!Peter/ Abyssal Merman!Ronan AU.  

 

 

**Peter**

This is very bad, 6.8 vertical miles of bad.

The aphotic zone outside of the porthole is bathed in perpetual night, punctuated by the morbidly beautiful dance of predator and prey as bioluminescent lures and diversionary displays flit across the viewport. You watch the ephemeral flickers in rapt silence until, suddenly, the biological lights vanish all together.

Rocket’s coarse fur presses against your side in the dark as he twists his fingers in your shirt. The acrid scent of fear hangs heavy in the humid cabin, and your combined warmth is stifling even in these frigid depths.

“Peter,” Rocket begins tentatively, “these submersible Terran crafts are safe, right?” His voice is smaller and more restrained than you’ve ever heard it.

“Wha? Yeah, yeah of course,” you respond quietly, respectful of the silence of the deep.

A loose loop of wire breaks free of its mooring from the deck-head above and brushes against your shoulder, making you curl protectively over your ship-mate. “Hey, Quill. Where did the fish go?” he murmurs from within the protective cocoon of your arms. “There’s probably just a boom or something blocking the window. Don’t worry, there are safety fallbacks for this kind of stuff,” you say reassuringly into the darkness, gently petting his fur. You both settle in small increments with the soothing rhythm of the touch.

Though, as you stare into the abyss, you can’t shake the sense that it’s staring right back at you.

The two of you sit firmly pressing against each other in a poor attempt to quell the rising panic for the next two hours. In the tense silence, a subtle, but rhythmic tapping from the window is the only sound to be heard.

It’s the longest wait of your life.

Suddenly, the pod lurches up towards the surface in a series of halting jerks and you hear Rocket send up an indiscernible, but fervent prayer of thanks. The back-up galvanic releases must have corroded and deployed the ballasts. You allow yourself a sigh of relief when the instruments on your dash coincidentally begin to chirr and crackle with renewed power.

The filament on the overhead bulb blows with a pop in the initial power-surge, making your already taunt muscles flinch.

Rocket blindly fumbles to engage the power to the external LED tower lights in a frantic rush to quell the irrational fear of the unknown. Blessed light blooms through the view port, illuminating a ten foot stretch of ocean before you and, with it, the silhouette of a creature born of nightmare.

Though you’ll never admit to it in the retelling, you can’t help but let out a short, piercing scream at the eldritch horror that hovers just outside of your submarine, its clawed hands splaying across the glass. Flawless blue skin brackets rows of needle-like teeth exposed in a rictus grin, tapping against the port hole as the submersible bobs pendulously in its ascent. God help you all, it’s been watching you this entire time.

Frozen, you choke on the fear that curls thickly in your throat.

Though you can see no pupils within the odd black markings of its face, there is the sensation of black eyes unerringly staring back at you.

Studying you.

Silently, Ronan slips below the craft and settles in amongst the support struts as it ascends.


	16. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill    Rated: mmmm...porn

This is a prompt fill for Dhyana/ [@diarmour](https://tmblr.co/mLe7_hLxCreVE1Y_3SzDo0w)  who requested: “Heeeeey /D so, you know that Star-Lord also has a Nova uniform in some comics? You decide if Ronan likes it or not (either #34 or #46 I guess XD) though the uniform has to be on the ground at the end, please u_û *cough* for science …”

 

Peter 

Come dribbles down your scrotum in thin rivulets that make you squirm as they ignite your over-sensitive skin. Each shift in turn makes the dried release on your thighs pull and tug uncomfortably. You have it in your mind to raise your voice in protest, to rail against the blue bastard who has kept you restrained and come-soaked on this god-awful interrogation chair for the past two hours.

But, before you can take in enough breath for an appropriately scathing diatribe, another screaming orgasm lights your nerves aflame and effectively steals what little fight is left in you. Sun bursts explode behind your eyes as Ronan continues to palm your cock roughly through the thick body suit.

Face dripping with sweat, you hang your head and collapse against your bonds.

“Beg forgiveness for your slight, and I will release you, Quill. Do not, and your suffering will be legendary,” Ronan growls, surreptitiously running his palms over the taunt roundness of your buttocks and down further to caress the muscular definition of your clothed thighs. This new Nova suit does things for his silhouette that should be downright illegal.

“Come on, Papa Smurf, even you have to admit…I make the Nova Corps look good,” you retort derisively. A half dozen blinding orgasms or no, it will be a cold day in hell before you beg this smug, Kree jackass for anything.

Ronan glares down at you and snarls.

“Very well, Starlord. If it is your wish to continue this farcical playacting as Xandarian filth then it is my duty as a Kree Accuser to treat you as such.”

With a sharp, perfunctory motion, Ronan shreds the suit from your body.

“What the hell, man?!” you begin to protest, tugging at the bindings until a massive blue phallus, visibly swollen against the binds of an elaborate cock ring, enters your line of sight and makes you immediately reconsider your no-begging policy.


	17. Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill    Rated: T

This is a prompt fill for [LoladiBlack](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fusers%2FLolaDiBlack%2Fpseuds%2FLolaDiBlack&t=YjQ4Y2U1YTc0NDk0Zjk5NDNiMjBhOTIwOWU5ZDIzNTcwNjgzNjNmYSxMd0hLaE43bQ%3D%3D) on AO3, who requested: “Drax/Peter 6 (“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”) & 40 (“You did all of this for me?”). Maybe after an encounter with The Avengers.” This is for #40

 

 

_Peter_

 

Black clouds roil overhead, heralded by the distant rumble of thunder and the cloying scent of ozone. You close your eyes and turn your face into the wind. Memories of a long forgotten childhood come rushing back, assailing you with a barrage of bittersweet joy and loss so powerful that you bow beneath the weight of its yoke.

This forcible remembrance is something that, until this exact moment, you weren’t aware affected you so. Drax pulls you flush against his side as the two of you sit in companionable silence, dangling your feet off of the roof of the Avengers Tower and awaiting the storm.

My mom used to love storms,” you begin softly, voice dangerously close to cracking.

“Yes, I know,” Drax responds simply in an attempt to tread lightly enough to be unobtrusive in your private moment.

“You did all of this for me, didn’t you?” you ask, voice cracking and forcing you to abort the thought abruptly.

“Your mother will always hold a place in your heart as your first love, though, it is my fondest hope that my paltry conviction is sufficient to garner me similar standing in your affections. Thor was gracious enough to create the storm. I had hoped it would bring you joy at the memory of her,” Drax responds warmly, finally breaking his gaze from the thunderous clouds where brilliant flashes of red and silver flit between the rolling gray breakers of atmosphere.

Covertly wiping the tear tracks from your face, you press further into your partner’s solid mass and take comfort in the heavy arm draped across your shoulders.

“Thanks, man,” you whisper, the words lost to the howling gale of the storm.


	18. Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill  Rated: M

This is a prompt fill for [LoladiBlack](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fusers%2FLolaDiBlack%2Fpseuds%2FLolaDiBlack&t=YTg0MzMzNDljNDM0NTFlMzc0NDk3NWUwMjRiNjlmY2Y3Y2MxMGZlOSxrc2VXVldraA%3D%3D) on AO3, who requested: “Drax/Peter 6 (“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”) & 40 (“You did all of this for me?”). Maybe after an encounter with The Avengers.” This is for #6

 

 

Drax sits contentedly on the posh loveseat in a languid sprawl that resonates quite confidence.

Watching the attractive Terrans swaying to a beat that is both raucous and oddly appealing isn’t anything that he would have ever suspected would register on his list of favored activities. But he finds himself smiling and hungrily following the swell of Peter’s ass as it dips and gyrates nonetheless. Stark is equally as alluring in his own right, a glowing epicenter of impulsivity and barely restrained sexual avarice tucked away beneath a façade of suave elegance.

They coil about each other, drinks in hand, as they rumba across the room and attempt to drag a blushing Steve into the dancing debacle. It’s an interesting dynamic that speaks of easy camaraderie.

For the first time since mating with Peter, Drax finds himself toying with the idea of polyamory.

The evening winds down and finally draws to a close as the Asgardian brothers accidentally destroy the television in a game of dice gone terribly wrong. Peter and Tony stagger against each other in their drunken state, still refusing to completely give up the warm glow of good music and overly amorous hands.

Upon the first burgeoning curl of arousal in his loins at the sight, Drax excuses himself and strides towards the guest room that he believes to be his and Peter’s for the duration of their stay in the Avenger’s Tower. It’s only a matter of moments before the handle shifts and the door yawns open.

Clint pauses in the doorway, eyes wide and jaw lax. “Dude, is there a reason you’re naked on my bed?” he asks slowly, staring unabashedly at Drax’s exposed dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Clint, I'm so sorry. At least your suits were safe this time.


	19. Ronan the Accuser/Nova (Samuel Alexander)/Peter Quill  Rated: E (for educational!)

This is a prompt request by some glorious Anon who requested: “Staraccuser showing young adult Sam (Nova) how good sex works.” I am going to emphasize the fact that this is young **adult** Sam, and more Earth 616 than movieverse Ronan.

 

Ronan/Nova/Peter ahoy!

 

 

Ronan pulls Nova’s bare body against his own, exerting perhaps a bit more force than he would ever use with Quill, and positions them both between Peter’s spread thighs. The heavy weight of Ronan’s phallus nestles in the cleft of Sam’s bare buttocks, already dripping with self-lubricant. With a firm hand, Ronan gives Nova’s cock a firm, slick stroke and lines up the swollen, spongy head with Peter’s anus.

“Yes Samuel, exactly like that,” Ronan rumbles approvingly, dragging his lips along the arch of the man’s neck where pheromone laden sweat hangs in swollen droplets.

Peter thrashes under the pleasured ache of initial penetration and strains to spread his legs as wide as he can in welcome, but Nova hesitates at the obvious furrow of his brow.

“Ease up a bit you giant blueberry! Are you sure this is okay?” he asks, smacking Ronan’s hip in annoyance and addressing the quivering man beneath and around him. Peter merely snorts in amusement. “Yeah, man, this is friggin’ incredible.”

“While your consideration is commendable, do not fear. Peter regularly succumbs to a far larger intrusion than your own,” Ronan adds, grinning slyly. With a sardonic eye-roll, Sam relaxes back into the Kree’s muscular embrace and allows himself to be guided slowly and gradually through the process with a subtle stream of narration and gentle reminders interspersed throughout.   

They writhe together like an unholy sacrament to the universal gods of lust, the lurid squelch of sweat, lube, and pre-ejaculate gluing the sheets to their joint bodies.

Peter’s fingers claw and twist the sheets into his fists as his thighs quake and his cock begins to weep. Great heaving pants threaten to abrade his throat with their force and the throbbing ache in his skull pounds out the frantic rhythm of Nova’s pistoning hips.

Before orgasm takes them all, Ronan roughly yanks Sam’s sweat slick body more fully against his own, pulling the Nova Centurion out of Peter’s body with a reluctant moan.

“Cease, Samuel Alexander. You are an impressively astute pupil, but Quill’s release is mine and mine alone,” the Kree snarls.


	20. Ronan the Accuser/Merman!Peter Quill  Rated: E

This is a prompt fill that nobody asked for but is happening regardless. Ronan/Merman!Peter…Ronan getting railed. That is all.

 

Ronan

You help ease Peter’s bulk out of the water and settle yourself beneath the substantial weight of him. Water surges around your bare hips, warm and familiar. If discovered, the Kree would never allow for such clandestine inter-species relations, but the illicit nature only enhances the flavor of your couplings.

As you stroke your fingers through Peter’s thick, damp hair and marvel at the juxtaposition of his smooth, rubbery skin against your own work-hardened palms, you don’t overly much care for the marital laws of your people.  

Peter grins down at you and guides one of your hands down his lithe body so that your fingers come to rest on an inconspicuous slit in the elastic flesh around the mound of his pubis. At his urging, you trace the delicate slit, as long as your hand, and press your fingers in gently. His body stiffens abruptly above you as his prehensile phallus slips free of its sheath to push insistently into your palm and wrap around your wrist.

He gives a sonorous whistle and you a silent scream as his cock releases your wrist and instead surges between your legs and into you without preamble. The stretch is agonizing, unbearable, but simultaneously not quite enough. It’s all you can do just to cling to his strong shoulders and take it.

Peter buries his face in the crook of your neck and chirrs.


	21. Yondu/Peter Quill  Rated: T

Prompt fill for an Anon on Tumblr, who requested: “Yondu/Peter- giving up”

 

This is a seriously dumbass idea.

Whoever came up the _Space Code_ needs two swift kicks in the dick: one, for drafting the stupid rules of engagement that dictate immediate surrender when faced with a force greater than your own, and two, for naming a law so crucial to upholding the minimization of loss of life in the universe something so achingly unimaginative as the ‘Space Code.’

You glare pointedly at the back of Yondu’s head, hoping that the force of your displeasure leaves a scorch mark on his mottled blue skin. This purposeful lack of resistance feels like giving up. But, before you can stew any further in the miasma of your own raging testosterone, the door to the bridge hisses open, admitting your victorious foe.

“Ah, what an extravagant welcome,” the rival Captain drawls appreciatively as he steps through the hatchway and purposefully strides past where you, Yondu, and Kraglin kneel with eyes locked on the metal grate. Every fiber of your being urges you to tear your gaze from the floor and lunge, to press the muzzle of your Elemental blaster against the smug bastard’s temple order him off of the _Elector_.

“You better calm yer tits, Son,” Yondu snarls beneath his breath, immediately predicting your reaction. With a ragged, self-calming inhalation, you force yourself to settle more solidly into the prescribed Chapter LXIIV subsection B _pose of surrender and supplication_. Seriously, what kind of backwards asshole came up with this shit?


	22. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill  Rated: M

The is a prompt fill for polite!Anon who requested: “could you please write some staraccuser, where Ronan becomes really jealous, since Peter swoons over someone else the whole time? like Gamora, or whoever you want to?”

 

 

Wet muscle bunches in tantalizing mounds of power and grace, glimmering beneath a fine patina of sweat. Each strike of Gamora’s powerful arms scatters drops throughout the air like falling prisms. Her beauty is intoxicating, but her strength is downright awe-inspiring.

Peter leans against the doorway to the _Dark Aster_ ’s massive combat training facilities and simply watches, mesmerized, as she goes about her daily forms. He admires the deep cut of her biceps and deltoids as she effortlessly incorporates her short swords into the dizzying tornado of kicks and spins.

Too focused on Gamora’s lithe body to notice the looming bulk behind him, Peter startles guiltily as Ronan places a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Oh, hey, babe. I was just, uh, just…” Peter stammers, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink beneath his ill-kempt stubble.

Ronan merely glances at Gamora and narrows his eyes, aiming a glare at his wayward mate until Peter, discomfited, looks away. “You were merely coveting the flesh of another,” he growls, voice tight and shoulders braced firmly against the pain of rejection. His words bring Peter up short.

“Wait, what?! Oh god no. Babe, seriously, it’s not like I want to bang Gamora. Jesus, she’s like a sister to me. I just think it’s really cool how strong she is,” Peter says quickly, gesticulating wildly in an attempt to convince Ronan of his veracity.

Ronan snorts derisively. “My protégé is certainly skilled, but perhaps you require a demonstration to serve as a reminder of true power.”

Without warning, Ronan brushes past Peter and strides into the training arena, shedding his loose-fitted tunic and rolling his shoulders to flex the massive sheets of muscle in his back. He pauses at the edge of the arena and slicks oil across the exposed breadth of his pectorals and the deep furrows of his abdominals. Shimmering in the brilliant hull-lights, the Kree is a portrait of toned, well-proportioned masculinity.

Gamora aborts a spinning kick in midair and turns to face the massive Kree. They both bow respectfully, then immediately clash in a seething mass of firm flesh and weaving limbs. Ronan ruthlessly repels Gamora’s subpar attacks, but does so extravagantly enough to showcase his oiled body beneath the light to garner the most effect.

“Holy shit,” Peter murmurs as he bites his knuckle and adjusts his leathers.

The second time that Ronan dips low, quads bunching, and lands Gamora on her ass with a well-placed sweep, Peter circumspectly reaches into his pants to palm his aching erection.


	23. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill/Richard Rider (Nova)  Rated: E

This is a prompt fill for an Anon on tumblr who requested: “could you write staraccuser+nova (rider) smut with 19 or 46? :)” I filled both because this pairing is so fucking hot. XD Plus, I felt like Richard Rider needed to live up to his name. lolol

 

 

46.) “No one needs to know.”

 

Richard groans as he slowly lowers himself onto Peter’s girthy cock.

The thick infiltration stretches him to the breaking point and fills him with such overwhelming sensation that he thinks he may explode from the pleasure of it. Quads burning with the effort, he rises up and allows gravity to impale him over and over again. Peter lifts his own hips to meet Richard part-way with a resounding slap.

A trickle of lubricant and remnants of stale come trickle out of Richard’s stretched hole every time he pulls too far off of Peter’s dick.

As they lie next to each other on the bed, Peter shares his breath with Ronan, tenderly kissing and breaking away only to surge towards the other once more despite the weight on his hips. A rush of warmth stabs into Richard’s stomach at the sight of their affection and, for a moment, he feels like an outsider. But the moment of insecurity passes quickly. He locks eyes with Ronan and watches as the Kree grounds himself with an arm beneath Peter’s shoulders and pumps his own massive dick in time with Richard’s repeated descent. The all-consuming arousal is maddening.

All it takes is for Peter to take over stroking his mate to completion for Richard to begin spilling over his own frantically pistoning hand. Viscous blue ropes of ejaculate paint over the deep furrows of muscle on the Kree’s chest in an almost kaleidoscopic array, complimented by the dribble of translucent white splattering against his abdominals. There is so much fluid that it flows between their writhing bodies into the sheets beneath. Peter comes last, slamming into Richard so hard that the man can’t help but fall forward bonelessly into the awaiting embrace of his two lovers.

“Jesus, if the Xandarians could see me now,” he gasps, each word broken and hanging on his hitched breaths.

“No one needs to know, Rider,” Ronan retorts as he pulls the Nova Prime down into a searing kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

 19.) “The paint’s supposed to go _where_?”

 

 

“The paint’s supposed to go _where_?” Richard asks incredulously.

“It’s Kree tradition, dude. Ronan’s going to love it,” Peter responds with a warm smile that belies nothing of the mischief in his eyes. Shoving the hesitant Nova Prime back down to the bed, Peter dips his fingertips into the ancient jar of Kree war paint and starts to trace elegant loops and whorls across the breadth of his broad shoulders. With a snicker, Peter finishes the last touches on the elegant Kree sigil of Ronan’s name and repositions his folded knees to tuck within the tight V of Richard’s toned thighs. “Alright, lift up,” he says, smacking Richard’s bare ass hard enough to sting. He complies with an unintelligible complaint and lifts his buttocks into the air, legs spread wide enough to reveal the tight, pink pucker of his anus. Peter deftly massages the taunt ring with his thumb as he adds the final components to his body art.

“Now wait a damn minute, Quill. Written Kree doesn’t have diagonals. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Richard grunts, trying to push up from the bed. Peter shoves him back down once more and drags his erection along the cleft of his buttocks to keep the man still.

“Trust me, Rich, Ronan is seriously going to go crazy over this. Just you wait and see.”

It only takes a moment for the tentative trust between them to shatter. “PETER! That was definitely an arrow head pointing to my asshole,” Richard yells into the bedspread.

The restrained guffaws finally break free as Peter collapses to the side in a shuddering heap, clutching his sides. In that moment, Ronan steps into the bedchamber, still slick with evaporating shower-water.

“Quill,” the Accuser sighs as he dolefully shakes his head and stares at the mess of black smudges forming ‘Ronan waz here’ on the Nova Prime’s back.


	24. Announcement

Why hello there! Due to the sheer volume of prompts that came in, I have split _Drabble Prompt Fills_ into their constituent fandoms. If you have subscribed to DPF, please note that this particular fic will now only contain the prompt fills for Guardians of the Galaxy. Please see my _works_ page for other fandom prompt fill fics. Thank you!!

<3  <3  <3


	25. Peter Quill/Ronan the Accuser Rated: T

Prompt fill for Sad!Anon on tumblr who requested: “can you write staraccuser #3 (Please don’t leave).”

 

Ronan

You steeple your fingers and bow your head to rest your brow against them. Before you, the holo-screen blares to life once more with the diaphanous image of Peter turning towards you with a smile. “Wow, look at that com icon! You are so terrifyingly hot, babe. I mean, like sexy in a could-totally-kick-my-ass kinda way. How did I ever get so lucky?” he babbles, full of energetic mirth. “Anyhoo...Yondu and I will be back in a solar day or so. I know you’re super busy on Halla right now, but give me a call back when you can. Love you, Ro!” The image wavers and resolves into the subsequent saved message. The screen redundantly calls out _Next Message._

“Hello, Gorgeous! Alright, so it looks like we’ll be a little longer than expected. The hyperdrive cut out on us, so we’re going to have to make a little detour to get some parts. You should have seen the fit Yondu threw when he realized. It was epic! I hope you’re managing all right without me, remembering to feed Korath and take him out for walks so he doesn’t piddle by the hatch door. We’ll be back soon. Love you, Ro!” The image of his brilliant smile fades as he blows a kiss at you through the screen. _Next Message._

“Fuck. Ronan, please pick up. I really need you right now,” Peter begins. An explosion sounds in the background and the transmission ends abruptly. _Next Message._

When the next transmission loads on the screen the camera is lying on its side and focused on Peter’s face at an odd angle. “Hey…hey, gorgeous,” Peter wheezes. “So, apparently the drive took out the life support. I…I don’t think I’ll make it back this time.” Tear tracks glisten as they catch the flickering light. “I’m so sorry, babe. Before I go, I need you to know that I loved you more than anything and you were the single best thing in my life. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t stay with you.” His achingly familiar smile is there like always, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be waiting on the other side. Love you, Ro…” The holo screen goes completely dark, leaving only the ghostly afterimage of Peter’s face.

“Replay messages,” you order, voice hollow and inflectionless as you stare forlornly into the flickering screen. You slowly drop your face into your hands.

“Wow, look at that com icon! You are so terrifyingly hot, babe…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. T_T


	26. Ronan/Peter Quill  Rated: T (making up for the last chapter)

**So, I was informed that I was an asshole for the last prompt fill.** I concur with this statement. XD

To make amends, this is a prompt fill for: “I need you to write a part 2 that has Ronan kill himself and then meet Peter in the afterlife again so they will be happily together FOR ALL ETERNITY!”

 

 

Ronan

Long golden stalks of an unknown flora wave in the breeze, brushing against your thighs in the lightest of caresses. You study the crisp blue sky and simply enjoy the flow of wind against your bare skin. This place is entirely unfamiliar to you but there is such a deep seated sense of peace and belonging that you can’t find yourself to care about studying it any further.

As you absently wander amid the fields of lush grain, a distant figure comes further into focus with each easy stride. It’s as if there is an anchor nestled in your navel, pulling you persistently onward, until you can finally make out the broad sweep of shoulders and a familiar mop of unruly, red-tinged hair. The figure doesn’t notice you until you finally place your hands on his shoulders and take a moment to marvel at the complimentary palette of your blue fingers against his sun-kissed skin.

In that moment, Peter turns and envelopes you within the warmth of his smile. Tension that you didn’t even realize you were holding within you dissipates and is blown away by the ethereal wind. The deep, silver puncture wound above your liver fades until flawless blue skin remains.

“Ro, I knew you would come,” Peter whispers reverently as he wraps his arms around your neck and stands on his toes to kiss you. You meet him halfway and sink into the solace of eternity.


	27. Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill    Rated: E

This is a prompt fill for [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g) who has waited patiently for the request: “Drax/Peter. Drax demonstrates his ability to bring Peter to orgasm in ANY position, or the one where Drax is fucking Peter who’s hanging upside down.“ 

 

**Peter**

It certainly doesn’t rank on your list of favorite sexual positions when Drax first introduces you to it.

Objectively speaking, it bends your neck in an exceedingly awkward angle, puts way too much pressure on your cervical spine, and forces so much blood into your head that it feels like your eyes are going to burst. Simply put, it’s uncomfortable. But a bet is a bet, and you have a thousand units riding on Drax being able to make you to orgasm in _any_ position. The fact that Rocket’s stipulations included a partially suspended pile-driver notwithstanding.

Or at least that’s what you would be thinking right now if you had two brain cells to rub together.

Instead, it’s all you can do to brace yourself and keep your head from slamming into the floor as you hang suspended by the massive strength of Drax’s grip on the meat of your quadriceps, just above your knees. He spreads your legs wide and repeatedly thrusts both of his phalluses into your stretched hole in a sinuous, undulating rhythm that sends bolts of pleasure deep into the core of you. Your thighs tremble and begin to shake violently, only restrained by Drax’s firm grip, as the first curl of orgasm gathers in the pit of your stomach and pulls your swaying scrotum up close to your body.

You can hardly breathe through your swollen sinuses, but the small death taking place in your loins is so much more imminent than the looming threat of death by asphyxiation. Orgasm builds into a piercing crescendo and crashes through you like a burst levee, accompanied by a scream that builds in your throat but comes out as nothing more than a pained groan. The rhythmic clench of your sphincter around Drax’s girth is enough to bring him crashing into the arms of release soon after.

As your combined come flows down your abdomen and chest, dribbling across your face and into your hair, you can’t help but think that Rocket should have taken Drax’s dual prehensile cocks into consideration.


	28. Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill  Rated: M

This is a prompt fill for a commenter on AO3 (I’m so sorry, I lost your username) who requested: “37- Drax/Peter Quill! :D “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” This is somewhat of a prequel to _[Best Left Forgotten](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F6297187&t=NzA0ODU0Yzk1OGIyNGJhMGUzODNiMmZjNzJjNDZjNWU4ZTI0YzYxMCxMTUhxcEhiVA%3D%3D)_ and provides a little bit of insight into the reason for Peter’s actions.

 

 

 

**Peter**

You hesitate at the threshold of your cell door and brace yourself for the raucous sound of jeers and catcalls that haunt your every step in this godless place. The memories of your first week in the Kyln are bathed in so much black, blue, and red that even something as simple as a morning meal is laden with so much trepidation that you have to convince yourself that food is necessary today. Yesterday, your stomach lost that battle.

Disembodied hands grasp and pull at your hideous, too-small prison garb as you quickly stride down the central aisle of the mess hall. You feel hunted. Moisture gathers at the corners of your eyes, but you ruthlessly suppress it. Showing weakness here is a death sentence, or worse. But, try as you might, the potent combination of starvation and soul-crushing anxiety overwhelm you and black spots begin to eat at your vision until the room appears as if seen through a tunnel. Without warning, everything goes black.

When you finally come to, you are being held gently within the embrace of a man that surely has steel poles for arms. The mess hall is eerily silent as the man glares at each and every occupant in turn. The Kyln is obviously his domain. Satisfied that your fellow prisoners are sufficiently cowed, Drax the Destroyer turns his attentions towards you and watches your face from beneath hooded brows.

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, Terran, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes,” he states with the beginnings of a sly smile. You press further into the rippling muscle of his chest and gape openly at the scarified tattoos that trace every exposed inch of his skin. In this instant, you know exactly what you have to do to get through this, to survive the horrors of the Kyln.

The first all-consuming press of his full lips envelopes your own and leaves you breathless.   


	29. Dragon!Drax the Destroyer/Peter Quill  Rated: E (for Euposauridae)

This is a prompt fill for [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g) who requested: “Prompt: Fairy Tail AU. Drax the Dragon, kidnaps Prince Peter. And fucks him on a pile of gold.”

 

 

 

The Destroyer presses Peter’s legs together with the flat palms of his paws, careful not to allow his claws anywhere near Peter’s delicate, human flesh, and presses his phallus unerringly into the tunnel created between his thighs. Peter’s quads bunch as he tenses in a mixture of anticipation and arousal. Drax is massive, the size of a double-decker bus, and his dick is certainly equal in proportion. One wrong move and Peter imagines himself skewered by the behemoth lance, although death by dick seems to have its own appeal if the sudden surge of blood to his cock is anything to go by.

Watching the lubricated tip of the dragon’s dick slowly penetrate his thighs is agony.

“Holy shit, move you overgrown lizard,” Peter moans encouragingly.

Drax shakes his flat, saurian head and flares his spines at the human’s impatience, huffing an amused gale of breath that smells like sulfur. However, bolstered by Peter’s eagerness, he changes the angle of his hips such that each textured nub of his phallus catches and strokes enticingly against Peter’s cock, trapping it between his firm stomach and Drax’s wet, undulating dick. The Destroyer pants in breathy little bursts of flame from the effort of holding back and his scales flutter, revealing the brilliant glint of molten flesh beneath.

Peter braces his elbows on the ground and weathers each sharp thrust of the dragon’s hips with loud enthusiasm. “Oh yeah, just like that, Drax. Just like that!”

The shape of his name on Peter’s tongue is nearly enough to unhinge the fantastical creature, but he viciously suppresses his instinct to conquer, to take, and instead focuses on the rythmic pistoning of his hips.

Before long, the human’s thighs begin to quake from the effort of adduction, but even that small bit of tremulous sensation is enough to send the Destroyer careening over the precipice of orgasm. Peter follows him over the edge and streaks his own chest with translucent ropes of come. Staring dazedly at the tall, stone ceiling, Peter allows his legs to splay bonelessly and collapses back onto the pile of gold. Drax merely settles next to him and curls his sinuous body around Peter in a protective circle.

“Waitaminute. Did you just come _fire?_ ” Peter asks incredulously, after a brief pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This just goes to show that I will literally write anything. :p


	30. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill  Rated: E

This is a prompt fill for [@diarmour](https://tmblr.co/mLe7_hLxCreVE1Y_3SzDo0w) who requested: “Staraccuser, Peter topping from the bottom.” Hopefully this makes the train ride go a little faster…or at least makes you cross your legs and smile knowingly at the other passengers. lol

 

 

 

**Peter**

With monumental effort, you manage to force your eyes open against the waves of pleasure that weight down your eyelids. You are rewarded with the sight of Ronan lying beneath you, sweat-slick and chest heaving as he grips the sheets tightly enough to tear. He trembles with determination, fighting mightily to keep his hips from pistoning up to meet your own with reckless abandon. A self-satisfied grin blooms on your face at the thought of this glorious power-house of a man being brought to heel by the endless breakers of desire that only you can give him. You clench around his girthy cock and claw furrows through the ceremonial paint that mars the beautiful blue skin of his chest and abdomen.

Absolute control is such a heady feeling.

You continue your agonizingly slow rise and fall, breath hitching with each returning press of Ronan’s textured phallus within you. The Kree suddenly releases the linens and plants one hand on your thigh, firmly enough to bruise, and reaches around you to roughly tug his rising scrotum. It’s too late though.

The first pulse of his release causes him to collapse back to the bed, eyelids fluttering. His back arches in the throes of orgasm powerfully enough to suspend your knees where you straddle his pelvis. An absent stroke is all it takes for you to leap from the precipice as well and fill the claw marks on his chest with your come, as if in claim.


	31. Ronan the Accuser/Ultron  Rated: T

This is a prompt fill for myself because Ronan/Ultron intrigues me. XD

 

 

Ronan idly smoothes his thumb over the shifting components of Ultron’s metallic phalanges, noting the occasional irregularity where Vibranium gives way to exposed circuitry. The subtle whir of servos is fascinating to the Kree, the sound so wholly inorganic.

“So what do you think?” the AI inquires quietly, loath to break the comfortable silence between them.

Jarred from his contemplation, Ronan eases his hold on Ultron’s wrist in favor of sliding his hand into the AI’s palm and interlinking their fingers instead. The proprioceptive sensors in Ultron’s superficial plating register that he is holding too firmly for a human to withstand the pressure. But Ronan is no weak, puling human. He is no Tony Stark. 

“It is perhaps a bit unrefined,” the Accuser answers after a brief pause, cocking his head as if in study. “Uneccessarily ostentatious, even. Though I suppose it does serve its purpose in a way that is…very much true to your character.”

Ultron takes comfort in the warm acceptance inherent in Ronan’s words, sighing softly simply for the effect of it. Without taking his eyes from the spectacle before them, Ronan reaches up and runs his fingertips along the occulus of Ultron’s cheek. “It’s poetic in a sense,” he notes.

Ultron merely hums his agreement and leans into the touch.

They stand in quite repose upon the rocky surface of the Earth’s moon and watch the planet below burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000 points and my eternal gratitude to whomever comes up with a decent name for this ship!!!
> 
> Murder Bros?  
> Worlddestroyer?  
> Two adult creatures who share mutual interests and are in a predominantly asexual relationship based on grudging admiration and respect?


	32. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill   Rated:T

This is a prompt fill for TeenPop!Anon on Tumblr, who requested: “Can you write staraccuser “hit me baby one more time“?”

Of course, anon, of course.

 

  

**Peter**

You desperately lunge across the massive chasm rent into the asphalt and pray that your sputtering propulsion boots last long enough to see you safely to the other side. Tony Stark frantically screams an order through your headset, but the pounding of your own heart deafens you to both his voice and the din of war raging around you.

Landing poorly, you scrabble to your feet with a speed borne of desperation and rebound off of a smoldering car in your haste. But, struggle as you might, time seems to thicken around your limbs and each long, running stride gets you only incrementally closer to your goal.

Finally, you catch sight of your target and your focus narrows to a singular point.

If you weren’t subsisting solely on panicked adrenaline, you would take the moment to revel in just how beautiful Ronan is, bare chested and glinting in the sunlight as he ruthlessly holds back wave after wave of Chitauri infantry. As it stands, however, you don’t have the luxury of stopping to admire your lover’s grace and can instead only single-mindedly concentrate on clawing your way to his side. Clint silently takes out the two Chitauri soldiers that move to intercept your headlong dash, allowing you to slip into the space between their falling bodies and finally take up a defensive position at Ronan’s back.

It feels like coming home.

He catches your eye in passing, the corner of his mouth ticking up almost imperceptibly, and returns to choreographing the lethal dance of his Universal Weapon. The day passes in an exhausting blur of energy blasts, weaving limbs, and viscera. Blood drips from your palm where the overheated housing of the Elemental Gun has nearly merged with your flesh.

Then suddenly, it’s over.

You lean against the reassuring weight at your back and, drained, take solace in the steady rise and fall of Ronan’s chest until your own heaving breaths settle. Everything today was far too close to call.

Adrenaline-induced tears cloud your vision and your knees buckle in slow motion. But Ronan’s muscular arms are immediately there to catch you, wrapping around your waist and lowering you both to the cracked pavement.

“Peter,” he states warmly as he shifts to kneel before you. He tenderly takes your face in both hands, heedless of the sweat and blood, and absolutely devours your lips in a searing kiss that leaves no room for interpretation.

The steady crunch of gravel heralds the approach of Captain America as he picks his way carefully through the bodies of the fallen. “Quill! Ronan! Give me a sign,” he calls out, still outside of visual range. Ronan reluctantly pulls back to place a respectful distance between the two of you, but you flat out refuse to give him up. To do so right now would make the recent fear of losing him all too real.

Screw propriety.

With the last of your energy, you shift into his lap and wrap your legs around his hips, burrowing your face into the billowing heat of his exposed skin where the armor was torn from his body in the melee. Ronan sighs his resignation into your ash-covered hair, but capitulates by wrapping his limbs around you just as tightly. You glance up and tap your still-swollen lips pointedly. “Hit me, baby, one more time.”

And he does.


	33. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill  Rated: M

This is a prompt fill for PersonAfterMyOwnHeart!Anon, who requested: “hey, would you write some staraccuser, where ronan has a huge crush on peter, and it's obvious to everyone but ronan?” GOD, YES.

 

A hush sweeps through the seedy little bar at the primal growl that rumbles straight into its patrons' hindbrains. Even the steady clink of glasses behind the bar-top stops abruptly, hanging on the pregnant pause.

“You will remove your hand from his person or I will free the offending limb from your deficient, quailing body,” Ronan states, voice dropping in register as he grinds the misfortunate alien’s carpals together in his steely grasp. Peter shifts in his chair uneasily, both thankful and embarrassed for his crew-mate’s overreaction. Sure, the sallow skinned jack-ass grabbed a handful of ass on the sly, but surely a drunken grope wasn’t a severe enough crime to warrant Ronan’s particularly totalitarian attentions.

“Whoa, whoa, man. Ease up on the pillowtalk. I can take care of myself you know,” Peter says with a casual grin. He settles his hand lightly on the Kree’s swollen bicep and absently rubs out some of the tension there. His soft touch is enough for Ronan to release the unfortunate offender’s hand, slight forgotten.

Grunting noncommittally, the Kree turns back to the bartender, gesturing for another round for them both. Nobody mentions the fact that Ronan’s hand stays possessively braced against the seat of Peter’s stool. Once the drinks arrive, Peter holds his glass up in salute to his overzealous savior and cocks an eyebrow. “To self-restraint!” he drawls amusedly. Ronan clinks their glasses together with a huff that borders on a laugh and knocks back his drink with smooth efficacy.

Gamora and Rocket glance at each other knowingly and sink their matching grins into their shot glasses after a sly toast of their own. It was Rocket’s idea to come to this temple of drunken debauchery, after all.

Perplexedly observing the tableau playing out across the way, Drax waves off the game dealer and approaches his crew mates at the bar. He drunkenly makes space for his massive bulk between Peter and Ronan’s stools, draping one muscular arm across each set of shoulders.

“Friend Quill, this Kree would like to have intercourse with you,” he says, leaning in towards first one, then the other with a large, congratulatory smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Staraccuser at the bar. Fucking. Love. It.


	34. Ronan the Accuser/Female!Peter (Peta)   Rated: E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staraccuser: Female!Peter pegging Ronan.

After a brief hiatus, I’m back! If you sent in a prompt, rest assured they will be filled. :)

This is a prompt fill for RoleReversal!Anon, who asked for: “Peter pegging Ronan Please?”

 

**Peta (Female!Peter)**

You lick a wet trail across each swell and valley of Ronan’s shoulders, savoring the metallic taste of his body. There’s something addictive in the way his rough skin catches at your tongue. Just as there is something delicious in the way the tight muscle of his buttocks trembles beneath your fingers with each shallow thrust. The press of the strap-on grinds against the soft mound of your pubis in time with the slow pistoning of your hips.

However, the sweet groans beneath you render the resultant ache inconsequential. Ronan’s panting, hitched breaths embed themselves in the hot core of your arousal.

“I accuse you of being just as into this as I am,” you manage to choke out as you pull him back by the waist and watch every inch of thick, silicone cock be forcibly consumed by his body. The snarl you get in return is so worth it.

You’re so wet right now that you can feel it lubricate your inner thighs as they brush together.

Distracted by the touch of air on your slick skin, the repeated call of your name goes unheeded until the volume is sufficiently loud enough to drown out the wet slap of your bodies.

“Quill!”

You glance up from your daze, eyes wide in alarm. The brimstone scent and fiery glow of the _Dark Aster’s_ navigation room greats your senses first, followed closely by the piercing, angry glare that you know so well.

“Peta, you will immediately cease whatever inane, Terran nonsense is occurring in the vacuum between your ears,” Ronan growls, glaring pointedly at where you are conspicuously crossing your legs to hide the wetness between them.

That look alone makes you squirm in more than just fear.   


	35. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill Rated: M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prompt fill for YouJustMightGetIt!Anon, who requested: “Staraccuser–be careful what you ask for.”

This is a prompt fill for YouJustMightGetIt!Anon, who requested: “Staraccuser–be careful what you ask for.”

 

“Very well, Quill. Demonstrate this fabled sexual prowess that you so vocally claim to possess,” Ronan drawled lazily as he leaned back and spread his legs wide. “I expect you to continue in your task until you ‘make me scream’ as promised.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed a deep, vivid pink as he stared incredulously at Ronan’s perverse display. Sure, maybe he had been a bit flirty since Ronan joined their motley little crew of misfits, but look at the guy. It was a shame to waste an ass that tight by parking it in a navigation chair. Peter was just a bit more enthusiastic in his appreciation of the new Guardian than the rest of the crew.

Ronan’s fingers traced a meandering line down the front of his undersuit, sure to dip into each furrow of muscle along the way. It was as if all of Peter’s fantasies and nightmares had all coelesced into one singular moment of humiliation.

“I, uh…well, that is to say…um. A little help here Gamora?” Peter floundered as he desperately tried to step around the Kree’s long legs and flee the bridge. Unable to restrain her snickering any longer, Gamora turned the sound into a cough and attempted to focus more intently on the navigation display.

“I believe the acting Captain just gave you a direct order, Peter,” she managed to say without her voice breaking. The monumental effort to stay straight-faced made her lips twitch.

Before Peter could react to his friend’s betrayal with anything more than a glare, Ronan lifted a leg and anchored his boot against the back of Gamora’s chair. He ran both hands across his inner thighs and pointedly palmed the crotch of his leathers. “I’m waiting, Starlord,” he growled.

Eyes wide, Peter groaned and brushed his hair back in nervous habit.

This…this was not going to end well.


	36. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill Rated: T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Quill's adventures in escorting.

This is a prompt fill for OnceTwiceThreeTimesALady!Anon who requested: “Please can I have Ronan/Peter #23[just once].”

 

 

Peter’s head drops back to the ship hull behind him as his communicator chimes for the fifth time that day. He glances down at the screen wearily and notes that it’s his agency. With a deep sigh, he rallies enough strength to lift the com device to his ear.

“Starlord,” he says simply. The chatter around him dies back into a formless drone as the cultured voice on the other line greets him.

“We have another client for you, Quill. What is your status?” an anonymous voice questions in the dulcet tones of androgyny.

Peter rolls his eyes and sinks to the ground with a wince. “My status? Let’s face it, everything below the waist is kaput,” he retorts with a terrible imitation of a German accent. “Sorry, doll, but I can’t take any more clients today.” Every shift sends a jolt of pain deep within him, though the pain is moderately soothed by the heavy jangle of currency in his satchel. Terrans tended to be voraciously sought after in the escort industry on this bustling commerce planet. Perhaps it was the novelty of being able to rail a rare species, or maybe the soft pliancy of the race as a whole. Regardless, Peter had more business propositions than he knew what to do with.

“That is unfortunate. But perhaps a short identity description will serve as a balm to your… inadequacies. I believe you will find this one to be quite desirable, Quill,” the alien operator drawls, a smile evident in their voice. Peter chuckles and absently pats the red dust from his lube-stained leathers.

“Oh, give me a break. These ‘inadequacies’ just sat on the face of Cthulhu for the past two hours straight. Send me the friggin’ iden and try to ease up on the sass; it’s doing terrible things to your complexion,” he mutters with a lopsided grin, absently scanning the landscape around him. The operator’s odd, nasal laugh floats through the com speaker reminiscent of honking wind chimes, then the line goes dead.

A tiny holo image appears on Peter’s screen and he finds that all he can do for a long moment is stare, lips parted. Tumble weeds roll aimlessly, buffeted by the hot, stale wind and cling to his boots, unnoticed.

“ _Ronan_?” he whispers as a broad smile crinkles the skin next to his eyes into fine laugh lines.

Imagine that, maybe he does have time for just one more client after all.


	37. Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill Rated: T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool's mouth manages to land him in an alien slave market. Peter Parker and his host Guardians are not amused.

This is for an anon on Tumblr who requested: "Spideypool in space please!"

 

 

Peter Parker sighs heavily as he strides towards the bustling auction-house at the center of the space station, flanked by the infamous Starlord and a perpetually pouting Kree Accuser by the name of Ronan. He elbows his way through the crowd of extraterrestrials, pointedly ignoring the snarls and clips of foreign language that are surely expletives. He’s so pissed off that it’s likely a good thing he can’t understand the snide commentary right now, anyways.  

Teaming up with the Guardians of the Galaxy had probably been one of the most amazing moments of Spider-man’s life to date. The technology alone was enough to leave him in a near-catatonic state of wonderment. Of course, leave it to Wade to ruin it all by cavorting off on his own and running his giant mouth in the wrong part of the quadrant.

It had taken nearly three solar days of frantic sleuthing and, ultimately, a few blown kneecaps to finally figure out what had happened to Peter’s attention-deficit partner. Apparently Wade had made such a lasting impression on the galaxy that he was up for auction at the Katar quadrant’s slave market.

Hell, he’s probably loving the attention, Peter thinks snidely as he storms through the space station’s galley.

Quill places a consolatory hand on Peter’s shoulder and pulls him up short. “Hey buddy, I know I’m the last one to be saying this, but we should probably come up with a plan before jumping in, guns blazing,” he mutters, eyes roving the rough crowd cautiously. “Back me up Ro.”

Ronan merely sneers at them both and leans casually against his Universal Weapon. “Perhaps the universal powers have seen fit to bless us with the gift of the puling imbecile’s untimely demise,” he comments idly instead. Incredulous, Quill stares him down and stabs an accusatory finger into the Kree’s chest plate. “You are so sleeping on the couch,” he hisses.

Without comment, Peter shakes Quill’s hand off of his shoulder and blinks back angry tears as he continues to navigate his way beneath a tall portico of what appears to be glass. Before him stretches a respectably sized amphitheater with an elaborate plinth at its center and a familiar red-clad anti-hero chained to its berth. Immediately beside Wade stands an eerily insectoid alien calling out bids in the rapid-fire manner of auctioneers everywhere.

“I’ll bid infinity times one hundred space bucks,” Peter exclaims from the back of the room, arm upraised as he strides down the nearest aisle with purpose. A hush sweeps across the packed rows as all eyes, and a sundry of other sensory organs, focus on him. “What, are space bucks not a real thing?” he continues, affecting disbelief.

“Well, whatever. I promise, you all don’t want that guy anyways.” Kneeling atop the dais in the center of the room, Wade shoots him a wide, bemused smile. He looks roughed up, but still in one vaguely Deadpool-shaped piece. The worrisome part is that he’s not talking.

“He’s loud, obnoxious, smells like cheap texmex half the time. I mean seriously, you’re scraping the bottom of the barrel here,” Peter drawls, removing his mask and smoothing his hair into some semblance of order as he approaches. “I would cut my losses and just hand him over. If anything, that big, blue jackhole behind me sure would be happy to have his punching bag back.”

Flagging behind, Quill covertly palms his elemental gun and drags along a decidedly unamused Ronan by the pauldron. A small battalion of security officers swarms from all sides to intercept Peter as he nears the dais despite the looming threat of a Kree Accuser in their midst.

But Spider-man isn’t having it. Diplomatic space-relations be damned, these bastards took something precious, someone that wasn’t theirs to take. He discards all of his prior reservations against inflicting heavy bodily damage and revels in the crack of armor beneath his fists.

In a matter of seconds, it’s over.

Ronan watches Peter step over the twitching bodies with grudging respect, then casts a bored glance about the room that sends the auctioneer off screaming and sets off a cascade of movement in the rows of bidders.

Peter kneels down in front of Wade and runs a gloved finger over the heavy band around his neck. It’s made of an odd, translucent metal that whines ominously every time that he attempts to speak.

Peter can only smile softly. “Well, I guess the universe finally found a way to shut you up,” he observes casually. Wade rolls his eyes and forgoes struggling against the collar’s control to instead insert the index finger of one hand into the crude O-shape of the other.

Chuckling, Peter bats away his lewd hand gesture and tenderly strokes a mottled cheek where old blood clings in dry flakes. “Be more careful next time, idiot,” he murmurs, breath caressing the merc’s chapped lips. Seconds later, he closes the distance and chases the taste that is uniquely Wade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't forgotten about getting these prompts filled. ;)


	38. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill Rated: M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You put the 'cute in 'execute.'

This is a promt fill for the lovely [@diarmour](https://tmblr.co/mLe7_hLxCreVE1Y_3SzDo0w) who requested: “Staraccuser, you put the ‘cute’ in 'execute.’”

(I’m slowly getting through the asks, they haven’t been forgotten. ;D)

 

 

Peter watched in awe as the Accuser approached.

Ronan cut an impressive figure, all miles of armor plating that did nothing to hide the heavy musculature beneath. If he hadn’t been literally strapped to the Kree’s BDSM version of a chopping block, Peter would have been climbing that man like a tree.

The imagery made him smile despite the circumstance.

“Do you have any last words, Terran?” Ronan snarled as he came to a standstill before the dais and turned such that he was in dramatic profile.

Peter couldn’t keep the lopsided grin from his face. He would have bet all of the credits to his name that Ronan had a perfect ass beneath that cock-blocking flap of chainmail. Well, if it was his time to go, so be it, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to die without at least _trying_ to get a chance to hit that.

“I don’t really have anything profound to say and I’m sure you’ve heard the whole ‘you can’t do this’ or ‘hey, please don’t kill me’ schtick. So I think I’d rather just let you know that, baby, you put the ‘cute’ in ‘execute,’” he stated conversationally, raking his teeth across his lower lip.

Ronan paused his Universal Weapon at the apex of its pendular arc and simply stared, at a loss.

“What?” he asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

“You heard me, Tall, Dark, and Hot as All Get Out,” Peter replied with a lewd roll of his hips. The friction of the ill-advised abduction stone against his crotch was really getting him places. Harrowing situations like this had a tendency of getting his engine revving at the most inopportune of times.

Glancing about in confusion, Ronan lowered his weapon. “I don’t understand,” he stated plaintively to the empty chamber.

Peter rolled his eyes and pointedly ground his rapidly tenting leathers against the stone block once more. “I’m talking about you and me, man. Wouldn’t it be better to have me on my knees rather than tied to this jack-off chair? Don’t get me wrong, I’m really digging the collar, but come on, dude.”

 Ronan’s eyes roved down to his captive’s lewd gyrations and his brows shot up in understanding.  “And what, pray tell are you suggesting to offer in tribute once you kneel before the Kree empire?” he asked, voice smooth as silk despite his prior discomfiture.

“Just me, learning my place,” Peter retorted with a sly grin.

Reattaching the universal weapon to the magnetic plate along his back, Ronan loomed close enough to take the full measure of Peter’s arousal with a firm grasp.

“You will come to choke on the lesson, boy,” he growled, releasing the restraints.


	39. Yondu/Peter Quill Rated: M

This is a bit of Yondu/Peter love for the incredibly patient [@bbb35](https://tmblr.co/mwGLJrQptVu5DVZXeAyk52g)

Plus, I’m absolutely head over heels in love with Yondu’s comicverse Ravager garb.

 

 

Peter knelt and ran his tongue reverently along the loops and whorls of tattooed lines spanning Yondu’s chest. Beneath the familiar taste of brine and ozone that always lingered on the Ravager’s skin, the heavy metallic tang of the ink stood out in stark contrast.

“I take it we like the new additions?” Yondu asked with a purr, pupils dilating at the cool sensation of spit-slick trails meandering along his torso.

“The tats? Hell yeah. But this ridiculous vest has got to go,” Peter retorted with a lazy smile as he yanked the offending, fur-lined garment down over Yondu’s shoulders. Yondu chuckled and settled back in his chair, unconcerned with the state of his essentially bound arms. “Boyo, I’ll have you know this here fur was stolen off of a top-notch Kree magistrate. You sayin’ those fancy fuckers ain’t got no taste?” he drawled.

With a dramatic eye-roll, Peter made quick work of his Captain’s tactical belt and tugged the leather pants down sufficiently to allow for the Centaurian’s thick cock to spring free. It bowed under its own weight and arced down to kiss the scored line of his abdominals.

Peter licked his lips. “What I’m sayin’ is you ain’t got the height to pull it off.”

In a burst of motion, Yondu put his boot against Peter’s bare chest and shoved hard enough to drop him to the dirty metal floor. He ignored Peter’s grunt of discomfort and dropped down to his knees, bracketing Quill’s shoulders and effectively pinning his arms at his sides.

“You got some goddamn nerve, Quill, talkin’ back to your Captain like that,” Yondu growled as he struggled to pull his arms out of the constraints of the vest. Finally free, he slammed his fists to the deck and canted his hips such that his flushed cock-head rested heavily on Peter’s parted lips like a promise.

“Seems like you need a lesson in how to put that flapping Terran mouth to better use, Boy.”

 


	40. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill Rated: T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter suffers from amnesia.

This is a prompt fill for [@scorpling](https://tmblr.co/mCtlg5g0a1Ky5Z7UF6s24YA) who requested: “Peter has amnesia (your choice why), and has forgotten Ronan and their relationship (but is still 1000% attracted to him).”

                                     ***

The first thing that Peter Quill saw upon waking was a brilliant light that immediately set him reeling back into the quiet recesses of his own mind.

When he came to a second time, it was to the grinning face of what had to be the personification of death itself.

“Welcome back to the land of the goddamn conscious, Boy,” Yondu exclaimed, slapping Peter’s cheeks between his palms and squeezing. Quill flinched at the abrasive noise and the strange alien who was a bit too tactile for his comfort.

“Unh, where am I?” he asked, surprised at the rasp of his own voice. A quick scan of the room told him that he was lying on a gurney in a medical bay of some kind, but for the life of him he couldn’t place it.

“Brought ya back to the _Elector_. I tell you what, you gave us one hell of a scare, son. Thought we had lost you there for a solar minute! Kraglin was this far from divvying out your stuff,” Yondu continued unabated, holding his thumb and index finger up to demonstrate his point. Peter sat up stiffly, eyeing the overly-friendly alien sidelong. “Do I know you, man?” he asked.

All of the Ravager Captain’s barely controlled enthusiasm petered out slowly. “Are you playin’ me, son? You know I don’t like fuckin’ games,” he stated suspiciously.

“No really. Who are you, dude? And can you stop touchin’ me? It’s weird,” Peter muttered in response.

Yondu closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before stepping out of the room and screaming orders down the corridor. Seconds later a sickly pale, non-humanoid slithered into the room and began a full neurological workup that culminated in two simple words: retrograde amnesia.

“Doc, watch the kid. I’ve got to go get Ronan,” Yondu said as he pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly shook his head. The gurney squeaked alarmingly as Peter tried to sit up and swing his legs over the side. “Hey, who’s Ronan? And you never said who the hell you are, Smurfette!” Yondu stopped in his tracks and turned to march back to Peter’s side. Without warning he delivered a sharp smack to the back of his head.

“I’m the Captain of this goddamn ship and the closest thing you got to a daddy, so you better shut the hell up, lay back down, and save your bellyachin’ for when that big, blue hemorrhoid of yours gets his ass in here,” Yondu snarled. He turned once more and stormed off into the corridor, trying his best to suppress his rising grief and failing miserably.

“What was that about?” Peter asked the room at large. The pale, snake-like creature glanced at him and shrugged, hissing in an indecipherable language.  

“Well, that was insightful.” Shaking his head, Peter laid down once more and studied the pipes and conduits that meandered across the ceiling. He was not left waiting for long.

Quick as a flash, the door to the med bay swept open and an absolute mountain of a man ducked his head to enter the room. He wore the same red leathers with the flame insignia as the man prior, but his jacket flared open as if donned as an afterthought in his haste. Beneath was a rippling line of muscle so solid that it could have chipped stone. Peter’s mouth began to water.

“Wow, you are terrifyingly hot. I mean, like sexy in a could-totally-kick-my-ass kinda way. Do I know you? Please say I know you,” he said, scrambling to sit up.

Ronan swept forward and leaned down close enough to tip Peter’s chin up and press their lips together in a brief, but searing kiss that spoke of familiarity. “My name is Ronan; I am second in command of this vessel and, more importantly, your mate,” he stated gravely, leaving no room for argument.

Peter could only grin up at the handsome, scowling face before him.

“Score!” he whispered.


	41. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill Rated: T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not wearing that."

This is a prompt fill for [@scorpling](https://tmblr.co/mCtlg5g0a1Ky5Z7UF6s24YA) who requested: “Staraccuser + ‘I’m not wearing that.’” :3

 

 

Ronan the Accuser canted his head as he bore the Terran’s incredulous stare.

“Okay, I don’t know what you all were thinking, but I am not wearing that,” Quill stated firmly, throwing the wadded up bundle of silk back at Gamora. He crossed his arms over his bare chest in defiance.

Whoever had the brilliant idea of taking a job from the high-paying Kree Accuser looming in the shadows of the Milano’s hull could suck it. Especially when that job involved Peter having to dress the part to infiltrate a harem.

“Peter, you know we have to do this,” Gamora chided with a hand on her hip. “And you’re the only one of us that would be convincing enough as…a…” Her voice trailed off until she finally just shrugged.

“As a what? A subservient little sex kitten? Can’t we just send in Drax to bash some heads and be done with it?” he whined in response.

The Guardians stared at him with varying levels of distaste. In contrast, Ronan merely observed the tableau with a small, malicious uptick of his lips. Tonight was proving to be far more amusing than he had anticipated.

A heavy weight settled in Peter’s gut as he realized that he was on the losing side. “Sure, the collar is a little kinky, but doable,” he tried to reason, tugging at the braided gold cord around his neck. “But the loincloth is a bit much. And I absolutely draw the line at the nipple rings.” He smacked Drax’s hands away once more as the man impatiently made towards his chest with the delicate jewelry.  

“How else are you to pass as a slave if you do not don the trappings of a slave?” the Destroyer asked dryly. He had scoured the quadrant for the appropriate attire for the companion of a Kree official and was, quite frankly, proud of his accomplishment.

“God, this must be what prom night feels like. ‘No’ means ‘no,’ Big Guy. We can find some other way to infiltrate the place that doesn’t have anything to do with kinky BDSM fun times,” Quill wheedled as he plastered his palms over his nipples and shied away.

“And you,” Peter continued to rail, indicating their benefactor. “You can wipe that stupid smirk off of your face right now. Just take your credits back, ‘cause this is so not happening.”

The Accuser stood tall from where he had been braced against the hull and stalked forward with a predatory grin until he loomed over Peter. Forcibly removing Quill’s hands, he ran his palms down the Terran’s chest and scraped the small, pink nipples to erectness with his thumb nails.

“Oh,” the Accuser growled, “I assure you, it is.”


	42. Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill  Rated: M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Quill is transported to another dimension.

Staraccuser, Peter is transported to another dimension

 

 

 

Peter had exhausted all of his resources. Whatever cosmological event that had transposed him with his alternate-dimension self was irreparable. He wandered the galaxy for years, alone and desperate in his single-minded search for a way back home. A way back to Ronan.

However, fate worked in strange ways. On the exact day that he had finally admitted defeat, he dragged himself into a tavern on some rundown shithole of a space port in order to drown his sorrows. It was then that a familiar silhouette took up residence on the stool adjacent. Peter had never seen Ronan in armor before. Getting him to wear anything at all was a battle half the time, honestly.

Filled with a burgeoning hope that he hadn’t felt in years, Peter forcibly put aside all thoughts of his loss and struck up a conversation. This alternate version was a cold, powerful Kree Accuser, not the sly Ravager Captain who had cheated him out of both his credits and his heart. But he had the same spark of intelligence in his eyes and the same clever banter, sans the easy smile.

The familiar behaviorisms and comfortable companionship were enough for Peter to insist that they leave together.

It was only as the massive Kree settled between Peter’s thighs that the differences between the two Ronans became glaringly obvious.

In another life Ronan had already spent nearly a decade learning Peter’s body as intimately as if it were his own. His touch was both sweet and torturesome, and always mind-blowingly satisfying. This version was so much more aggressive, comingling pain with pleasure in a relentless drive that made Peter feel broken open and used. Every orgasm was tainted with shame and guilt. Shame in his enjoyment of the objectification, and guilt in finding pleasure in the arms of someone other than _his_ Ronan.

Peter swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat and clung to the Accuser’s shoulders as they rocked together with the bruising force of the Kree’s thrusts.

This wasn’t his Ronan, but he was as close as Peter would ever be able to get.


	43. Demon!Ronan the Accuser/Peter Quill  Rated: E (For extra helpings of sex)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon!Ronan x Peter Quill. NSFW. No plot, only smut.

This is a prompt fill for [@scorpling](https://tmblr.co/mCtlg5g0a1Ky5Z7UF6s24YA) who requested: “beautiful prompt: demon!ronan x peter quill. nsfw. no plot, only smut”

Well…this was meant to be a ficlet…but I was inspired. XD

 

With a leisurely stroke, the incubus dragged his sinuous tongue, rough like sandpaper, down the curve of Peter Quill’s spine.

“Finish the incantation; Call my name and I will consume your pleasure,” the demon whispered reverently into his skin. The sibilant quality of its voice arced along Peter’s nerves and ignited a firestorm of arousal that had him bucking his hips futilely against the air. It felt so right to arch his spine and spread his legs wide in invitation to be mounted. He couldn’t fight the compulsion even if he wanted to.

“Please. Jesus, please,” he whined. The emptiness was agony.

A burst of rich, baritone laughter flowed over him and made his cock pulse heavily between his legs.

“Valiant attempt, but ultimately incorrect. Call my name, Terran,” the demon prompted once more, this time in a growl that promised nothing but pain.

Whimpering in the throes of arousal, Peter could do nothing but accede. “Ronan. Ronaaan. Ronan, please fuck me,” he all but howled. Ronan closed his eyes against the budding power of his name stated in triplicate and breathed in the fragrant smell of this sacrifice, freely given. It was a heady mixture.

His wings flapped lazily above them, then dissociated into a hundred unraveling coils. The thin tendrils snaked their way across Peter’s body and bound him firmly in place.  

“In time,” the demon observed casually. Peter could just imagine the self-satisfied smirk on the creature’s handsome, blue lips, just a hint of midnight-black fang peeking out. “Ugh, you are such a dick,” he groaned, trying his best to buck back against the bonds and grind against the muscular abdomen resting against his buttocks.

Ronan’s only response was a snort of amusement.

Several of the flowing tentacles traveled along the tremulous V of Peter’s abdominals and wrapped reverently around the base of  his cock, snaking their way further to engulf his scrotum in a gently pulsing net of flesh. Peter tried to voice his encouragement, but as soon as his lips parted, another set of tentacles took the opportunity to slip in and bind his tongue. He could only moan against the undulating mass.

“Mmm, yes. I much prefer your silence,” Ronan stated slyly.  

Once he was satisfied with the state of Peter’s bindings, he reached forward to grasp one of his offering’s wrists. The tentacles gave way and allowed the limb to be brought back behind his body such that Peter’s fingertips came to rest on an inconspicuous slit in the rubbery flesh around the mound of the demon’s pubis. At Ronan’s urging, he traced the delicate slit, as long as his hand, and pressed his fingers in gently.

The demon’s body stiffened abruptly above him. All at once, a thick, wet phallus shot out into Peter’s hand and began to spastically twine up his forearm. He could recall panicking the first time that he had seen what kind of heat the demon was packing. But, now he could only tremble in anticipation of being filled by the prehensile cock.

“Ronan,” he attempted to choke out prayerfully despite the flowing mass of tendrils thrusting lazily into his mouth.

Hot fluid dripped thickly into the crease of his buttocks and flowed down over the combined swell of scrotum and tendril to patter against the metal grate of the floor in response. The agonizing arousal that had already been rapidly building paled in comparison to the crescendo of desire now burning through Peter’s loins like a conflagration. The fire raced up his spine as his anus fluttered and clenched at the insult of still being empty. Whatever the fluid was, it was driving him mad.

Groaning in approval at the feast of desire laid out before him, Ronan grasped his own questing phallus and firmly guided it from Peter’s wrist down to the tight pucker of his entrance. Quill thrashed under the restraint of the incubus’ disseminated wings and strained to spread his legs as wide as possible to welcome Ronan in.

The first touch of the incubus’ tapered cock set Peter quivering until, finally, Ronan released his grasp and allowed inch by sopping inch to slowly feed into him. Peter frantically clawed against the floor with one hand and dared to pry at the firm fist controlling Ronan’s tentacle cock with the other. He gave a silent scream, and Ronan a startled hiss, as the writhing phallus surged into him of its own accord. The stretch was unbearable, but simultaneously not quite enough. That is, until Ronan began to thrash wildly within him. Peter could do no more than stare at the floor, tears of pleasure clouding his vision, and weather the invasion. The demon buried his face in the crook of his offering’s neck and chirred.

“Yeeeeesss. Submit and allow me to consume the banquet of your need,” Ronan growled in an indecipherable language that sounded more like shifting stone than actual words. For quite some time they stayed there, rocking together in a rhythm both brutal and satisfying. Pinpoints of blood bloomed along Peter’s hips where Ronan mistakenly gripped too harshly with his claws. Finally, the world flared bright beneath Peter’s fluttering eyelids as orgasm threatened to tear his soul asunder.

Immediately sensing the shift in his offering’s need, Ronan uncurled the tendril forming a tourniquet at the base of Peter’s cock and instead slipped it into his urethra like an organic sounding implement. The writhing mass in Peter’s mouth retreated and coalesced with the retreating bonds to reform Ronan’s massive wings.  

“Fuck, oh fuck, Ronan,” Peter managed to gasp weakly.

At the sound of his name, the demon’s thick cock continued to force itself further and further into Peter, heedless of whether any more could fit before threatening to comically burst out of his mouth. The pain was so closely tied into the pleasure of it all that searing fire closed the Terran’s throat and curled his toes.

With a powerful jerk of his hips, Ronan at long last embedded himself to the hilt and sighed as Peter screamed through the most powerful orgasm of his life. The small sounding tentacle literally swallowed his release. Overwhelmed, Peter clamped down hard on the incubus’ quivering phallus and fluttered along the length of it, quickly coaxing out Ronan’s own orgasm as well. He shuddered hard against Peter’s thighs and buttocks, growling out a litany of curses in both English and his own strange, sibilant language. Thick, viscous release coated the floor where they knelt, breathing heavily.

They stayed that way for a long moment, simply reveling in the holy trinity of blood, sweat, and come.

As they regained the vague semblance of rational thought, Ronan carded his claws through Peter’s hair and pulled his head back sharply to deliver a searing kiss. And with that, the incubus was gone. Collapsing to the floor bonelessly, Peter couldn’t help but laugh, breathless.

This wasn’t what he had intended when he had purchased the summoning stone on Knowhere. He had just been looking for a simple entertainment to alleviate the boredom, like some sort of Technicolor light show or whatever. The vendor had assured him that this particular spell would serve as a wonderful diversion to be used time and time again.

Well, the vendor wasn’t wrong.


	44. Yondu Udonta/Peter Quill Rated: T

Peter/Yondu-because goddamn that’s a sexy head-piece.

 

“You got a mental deficiency there, boy?” Yondu growled, not deigning to look up from where he was pouring over navigational charts in the canteen. The flimsy transparencies were glued to the bar-top by sticky liquor residue and the heat of the Ravager Captain’s fixated glare.

Peter gave his best disarming grin from a few seats down and took Yondu’s snarl as an invitation to scoot closer. “Nah, just admiring the new addition,” he stated in what he hoped was a seductive drawl but sounded more ‘drunken slur’ in retrospect.

“What the hell are you goin’ on about?” Yondu replied, making the mistake of glancing up. Leaning against the counter, filling out those leathers like it was his job, Peter cut a fine silhouette. Warning sirens flared in Yondu’s head at the bolt of appreciation that shot straight to his dick at the sight. 

“Nothin’, man. Can’t a guy just admire his Captain’s new duds?” Peter continued, scooting even closer and reaching out to touch the metallic crest on Yondu’s head. Smacking the offending hand away, the Ravager glared daggers at Peter.

“Now you listen here, son. Yer drunk. Go sleep it off and let me finish charting this goddamn course before I smack the stupid outta ya,” Yondu snarled, though there was a distinct note of unease in the set of his shoulders. Peter laughed and tried to reach out again. “Nah, I’m stone cold sober. Just got back from getting some shit settled on Xandar, actually,” he explained casually. A thin line of skin peaked from beneath his shirt as he braced a hand against Yondu’s thigh and stretched across his lap to get a closer look at the Centaurian’s new headpiece. 

“Goddamnit, Peter!” Yondu all but roared, trying to lean his head away and press against Peter’s muscular chest. The two locked arms and wrestled for a brief moment until Peter’s enthusiasm sent them both toppling to the floor. Before Yondu had a chance to take in a deep breath and rip him a new asshole, Peter quickly straddled his Captain’s waist and bracketed the man’s head between his muscular arms. He studied the rapidly shifting expressions on Yondu’s face and took pleasure in the way his building diatribe turned into nothing more than a pitiful wheeze.

“Yeah, see. I reckon you could have gone even bigger,” Peter near whispered into the space between them, voice thick. He brushed his fingertips lightly over the metallic crest and boldly leaned forward to lave the rising edge with his tongue. 

Yondu swallowed, hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so beautiful.  
> 


End file.
